


Silence.

by WhatTheWentz



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Oz is a tortured musician, Sadness, Self Harm, kinda shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheWentz/pseuds/WhatTheWentz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oz has been acting more weird than usual...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence.

“You’re always so quiet, Oz.” the mocking voice of Cordelia Chase hissed as she slid like a viper into the chair across from Daniel ‘Oz’ Osbourne in the Bronze.  
Oz gave the faintest of smiles, not answering as his girlfriend, Willow Rosenberg, took his hand from under the table. She rested her head against his shoulder, her thumb about to lightly run over his wrist, but he froze and lifted his arm, cradling it lightly near his chest. She noticed this, and her eyes reverted to the ground, where she had been staring before.  
“I-I’m sorry.” he murmured quietly, “I fell earlier and i-it’s a bit tender.”  
Willow stared back up into his face, “Are you okay? You just seem… distant.”  
“I’m fine.” he lied -- he hadn’t been fine for ages, “I think I’m g-gonna turn in anyway. I’m still tired from the Full Moon last week.”  
She stroked over his back, “Okay.” she pecked his nose, “Love you.”  
“I love you too, Willow.” he replied.

***  
When he got ‘home’, the first thing Oz did was retreat to his bedroom, looking at his guitar that rested against the wall. He huffed -- lately, he had lost all inspiration. Not just for music, but for life itself. But he couldn’t tell anybody, people were meant to be happy -- Buffy was back, as was Angel, and there was a new slayer, Faith in town. He couldn’t tell anyone how much of a tortured artist he was. Nobody had noticed him wearing longer sleeved shirts, or jackets, even when it was warm -- they hadn’t noticed because they didn’t care.  
Nobody would care if he were to disappear, he believed, he was worthless, and the only thing interesting about him was for three nights a month, he was howling on all fours, covered in hair, even more imperfect than ever.  
He groaned, grabbing a razor from his drawer and rolling up his sleeves, preparing to paint a picture of crimson. He drew the thin, sharp metal over his skin, seeing it leave a trail of beautiful red behind it, softly hissing between clenched teeth. All over his body were these marks, on his back and stomach, his legs, and of course on his arms. He had started blaming himself when Buffy was gone, living a different life completely -- Willow had been in anguish, and because he was unable to console her, he blamed himself. He was such a fucking failure.  
He drew the silver quicker against his skin, gasping. Blue eyes threatened to tear up, but he blinked them back -- he refused to give in, he refused to cry.  
When his arms, legs and stomach were lined with red again, he put away the razor. Whenever someone saw his wounds, he would blame them on his wolf not liking being trapped, but that excuse only worked a quarter of the month, so instead, he would say he fell, or be extra careful to ensure nobody saw.  
He clambered into his bed, feeling the blood still pour out, knowing he would have to change his sheets in the morning.

***  
The following night at The Bronze, Oz was sat with the other Scoobies, plus Angel, who he didn’t really count as one anymore due to him being an evil murderer again for a few months, and putting Buffy and the others through figurative Hell, then ending up being sent to literal Hell. He had murdered Giles’ lover, snapped her neck like a twig, then laid her body in the ex-Watcher’s bed, as if she was slumbering.  
Angel looked rather uncomfortable, and whispered, “Is someone bleeding here? I can smell blood.”  
“Angel, man.” Xander raised an eyebrow, “You forget there are women at this table. Also, gross.”  
Willow sighed, “So, Buff, where’s Faith?”  
“Training.” Buffy sipped her drink, then looked at Oz, “You weren’t in school today, what was wrong?”  
Oz crossed his arm, feeling like the room was suddenly closing in on him, “I, uh, threw up. But I’m feeling better. I’ll be back tomorrow.”  
“Good.” Willow hugged his arm, “‘Cause I missed you.”  
Oz winced slightly, and everyone noticed this, “H-Hurt my shoulder.”  
“You’ve been hurt quite a lot lately.” Buffy gave an accusatory stare, “Kinda suspicious.”  
The werewolf paled, “W-Well, I am clumsy, a--and…”  
“Relax, Oz,” Buffy smiled, “I’m kidding.”  
Willow saw his obvious discomfort, “What’s wrong? Tell me?”  
“I-I.. I need fresh air, I can’t breathe in here.” he dashed outside, leaving confused Scoobies.  
Xander broke the awkward silence following his departure, “Well, that was weird.”  
“I’m going to go check on him.” Willow said, suddenly getting a text from him.

Oz: Gone home, feeling rlly ill x

She sighed, showing the message to the group surrounding them. Buffy’s face screwed up in perplexity.  
“Something’s wrong.” Angel murmured, “I’m sure I smelled his blood earlier.”  
Xander began, “Guys… you don’t think--”  
“No.” Willow interrupted, “He wouldn’t.”  
Xander exhaled, “You’re right. But he is a rather deep, stoic guy. He’s probably been bottling.”  
“Xander, no.” Buffy shook her head, “He’s a happy guy, he’s got Will. He’s got the band.”  
Xander stated, “And he said he’s been having issues getting inspiration.”  
“Oh, my God…” Willow covered her mouth, “Oz… I gotta go check on him, make sure he’s okay.”  
Buffy nodded at her, “Give him our best.”

***  
Oz sat in his room, running the razor over his leg, under his jeans, which were starting to stain red. There was a knock at his front door, and as much as he hoped it wouldn’t be Willow, he could already smell her, smell her fear for him. He put the razorblade in his drawer, closing it, then rolling down his sleeves and jean legs.  
He exhaled shakily before descending the stairs, going to the door and seeing Willow look worriedly at him.  
“Hi.” he said awkwardly.  
She looked at his concealed arms, “Let me see.” she said when she walked in.  
“S-See what?” he tried to play dumb, but she wasn’t convinced.  
Her voice became rough and harsh, “You know what I’m talking about. Let. Me. See.” she enunciated every word even sharper.  
“N-No.” Oz looked down, suddenly afraid, noting for the first time that she was slightly taller than him, and he couldn’t defend himself, “I don’t want to.”  
She grabbed his arm, and he cried out slightly, pleading with her as she rolled up his sleeve, revealing the ladders of red and purple ascending, lines of hatred carved deep into his skin. Her green eyes filled with tears and she backed away, then sat on the sofa, running her hands through her red hair.  
“Willow…” his voice cracked, and he felt an onslaught of tears threaten him, “Please don’t hate me…” he begged -- he would die without her love.  
She looked up, “You think this i-is hatred? No, Oz. What you do to your body is hatred, and it scares me. You don’t even acknowlege how amazing you are, how loved you are. You don’t need to do this.”  
“W-Willow… I can’t… I can’t manage.” his throat was burning, “I wasn’t able to comfort and look after you when Buffy was gone.”  
Willow’s eyes were bleeding tears, “S-So, this is my fault?”  
“No… No, of course not.” Oz felt his own tears start to fall, “It’s my fault. I’m useless, I’m a worthless piece of shit and-and… I’m a monster, who deserves to fucking die!” he finished the last part by kicking the nearest wall, almost putting a hole in it.  
Willow stood up and walked over, “You honestly think that? You don’t see what I do?”  
“There’s nothing to see but an animal.” Oz’ head bowed.  
She pinched his chin, forcing him to look at her, “I love you, Oz. And when I look at you, I see my future, my life -- my life with you.” she rested his forehead against his, “But if you cut too deep and die, then that’s over, and I wouldn’t really have a reason for existing anymore.”  
“Don’t s-say that.” Oz murmured, “There’s more to you than me.”  
She stroked his cheek, “And there’s more to life than this pain you’re forcing on yourself. I want you to cry, properly. It’s what you need, and I think it’ll make you feel better.”  
“I-I can’t…” he shook his head, face twisted with self-hatred and the tears finally began to fall freely as Willow brought them to the sofa, pulling Oz’s head into her lap, stroking his hair comfortingly and kissing his forehead.  
She stroked over his back, “It’s okay, I’m here… shh… I know… you’re mine, you know that?”  
“And y-you’re mine?” Oz asked, his voice trembling.  
She nodded, “I’m yours. And I’m going to help you.”


End file.
